Two Prostitutes And a Mercenary
by GatesThistle
Summary: "Sorry, I only sleep with men recreationally," Worick said with a wide grin as his eyes trawled up and down the frame of his would be client. "And you're really not my type." (Or: in which Alex loves two men, Nic loves two prostitutes, Worick gets into a fight and nothing happens.)


"I've heard 'bout you."

He was so obviously drunk, Worick merely side-eyed him and took another long pull from his drink.

The man didn't take too well to being ignored and continued, forcing his way into Worick's personal space. "You're the whore who fancies himself a fighter."

Worick rolled his eyes and turned to face him with a raised eyebrow. "Is that what they're saying about me nowadays? Do they still talk about that thing I can do with my tongue or is all about how I handle a pistol now?"

He had clearly taken that as an invitation, as he slid even closer to Worick down the bar. "How much do you cost, baby?"

"Sorry, I only sleep with men recreationally," Worick said with a wide grin as his eyes trawled up and down the frame of his would be client. "And you're really not my type."

The man scowled and jerked his head down the bar to where Nic sat in a comfortable silence with Alex. "That your type?" He sneered. "Saw you with him earlier. He your 'recreational' piece?"

Nic looked up as though sensing the sudden tension in Worick's shoulders, question obvious in his eyes. Worick shook his head infinitesimally, so Nic looked back to Alex, keeping watch out of the corner of his eye.

"He's pretty enough," the man was still talking, obviously ignoring all the warning signals in Worick's body language. "If you ignore all the scars. I guess he could join if that would make you any more compliant."

Worick punched him straight in the nose, which gave way with a satisfying crunch.

It seemed as though he had buddies, who all but pounced on Worick the instant his fist made contact. Nic vaulted over the bar and was by his side in seconds, slamming the flat of his palm into the nose of one of the men coming at Worick's back. After a moment's hesitation, Alex tackled one of them from behind, and began beating him over the head with one of her shoes.

The fight was over before it began. It wrapped up almost immediately after one of them caught sight of the tags hanging around Nic's neck.

They stood in the carnage that had used to be two barstools and a good portion of the bar, blood dripping from noses and split lips. Alex's victim had four long matching scratches down his cheek that were bleeding profusely. Worick was proud of her.

They were promptly kicked out onto the darkened street and told to never come back. It took Nic absently fingering his tags for the gang of men to leave well enough alone, muttering curses and nursing their wounds and they stumbled down the street.

"That went well," Worick commented cheerfully, placing a cigarette between his lips and lighting it.

Nic smacked the back of his head, causing the cigarette to tumble to the ground, where it smoldered out its last pathetically at their feet.

Worick pouted. "What was that for?" Nic gave him a disbelieving look and Worick chuckled, fishing a fresh cigarette out of his pocket. "Fair enough," he responded, exhaling smoke in a deep sigh. "He interrupted my drink," he said sadly. "Come on, I think I have a bottle of something at home."

###

"Something" happened to look like whiskey and taste like an ulcer waiting to happen. Worick tossed back a good portion of the bottle before passing it off to Alex, who looked at it dubiously, before taking a tentative sip. It apparently met her standards because she took a deeper draught of it, throat working as she swallowed, inhaling roughly when she finished.

Nic tossed him a wet washcloth, before slouching on the couch and nimbly plucking the bottle from Alex's hands.

Worick dabbed lightly at his split lip until the cloth stopped coming away red then held it against his cheek where no doubt a bruise would form tomorrow, flinching at the cold against his overheated, sensitive flesh.

Alex took it from him, and folded neatly into a square, gently scrubbing away the blood he had missed. Nic handed him the alcohol.

"You guys are too good to me," Worick said, voice warm with teasingly feigned emotion. Alex smiled in response and Nic ruffled his hair, pulling a little too hard for the gesture to be purely affectionate. "Ow," Worick let out mildly. "I'm injured, Nicolas."

 _What you are is a dumbass_ , he signed back.

"I'm shocked and hurt. And in front of a lady too." He turned to Alex, with air of a tattle tale. "He called me a dumbass."

 _She wouldn't have known if you hadn't told her._

Alex laughed. Her laugh was an incredible sound, low and melodious and genuine, and one that Worick had been afraid he would never hear after a few weeks of knowing her. In contrast, Nic's laugh was rough from disuse and always sounded vaguely surprised. Worick loved it just as much.

"He's right." Her laughter was gone, but warmth remained in her stunning eyes.

Worick held his hand to his heart as though shot. "I lied, you two are terrible."

They settled against each other on the couch, Worick between the other two, passing the alcohol around until it dwindled away to nothing. Alex dropped it to the floor upon finding the bottle empty. It hit with a hollow thump.

"What was the fight about?" She asked after a moment.

Worick shrugged. "I don't take men as clients. He thought he was an exception."

She looked up at that. "You don't? But that's most of the market."

"I learned very young, when we were particularly strapped for cash, that when men give you money, they think they're entitled to you, not just to the services you offer." He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, and as he expected, saw understanding there. He shrugged off the mood his words had brought down on the room. "Besides, women are more fun."

"That's true enough," Alex replied.

They were both staring at her, revealing that Nic had indeed been watching their entire conversation, and she hunched in defensively.

"It's like you said. I like men, but after too many bad experiences, women are just better for you," she muttered, looking down.

"If we weren't out of alcohol, I would propose a toast." Worick was grinning widely at her, and mimed holding a glass in the air. "To women."

"And men." She copied his action, tilting the imaginary glass in his direction.

"And the attraction to all of the above," Worick finished with a grand gesture.

Nic held up his own invisible glass with a tiny smile, and Worick slung an arm around him with a grin.

"Something we all have in common."

Worick was a very physical person. A lifetime of abuse had caused him to cling rather than push away, desperate for human contact. However, he was entirely aware that this was not how most people dealt with trauma.

This was exactly why he was hesitant, even in moments such as these, to make a move.

He had wanted Nic so much for so long it had become a part of who he was, but no matter how he spun it, it always felt like coercion, fucking a twilight. Even as a kid, it had felt wrong, and he had known his feelings could never be returned in the same way. There would always be a sense of obligation from Nic.

And he certainly wasn't going to be the one to trigger Alex with a careless touch. They would have to be the ones to come to him.

It wasn't particularly likely, he had been waiting over a decade for Nicolas.

Alex was drifting off on his shoulder. He gently nudged Nic off the couch, and laid Alex across the length of it, removing her shoes carefully to avoid waking her up, absently brushing the hair out of her face as she sleepily nuzzled into the cushions.

When he looked up, Nic was watching him curiously.

 _What?_ Worick signed at him.

Nic made several aborted hand gestures before he got out what he was trying to say. _The way you look at her._ Worick cocked his head, prompting him to continue. _I've only ever seen you look at me like that._

Worick shrugged, one shoulder dipping fluidly. _You know how I feel about you._

He was usually able to read Nic's expressions better than written words, but right now, he was inscrutable, so Worick just tapped his shoulder and jerked his head to the bedroom. "Let's just go to bed, yeah? It's been a long day."

 **Author's Note:** I swear to god this was supposed to end in sex but they just have too many issues that couldn't be worked out in a drabble so I leave you all with no plot and feelings (my M.O.). So I love polyamory and I am very emotional about these three already wow and this is the result. I'm so sorry.


End file.
